Familiar Taste of Poison
by The Original Frizzi
Summary: "Drink the wine, my darling," you said... "Take your time. Consume all of it..." This story tells of a man's fight against his greatest enemy: himself. But, how hard can one fight with odds such as this? Songfic, rated M for... well, you'll see...


_AN: Okay, here we have a songfic that has *absolutely nothing* to do with the epic creations running rampant in my head right about now (!). I know, it's a shock, but it can be done! I had written this before with a different set of characters, and listening to the song again just the other night prompted me to revamp it with a dash of my favoritest game evar. xD I also wanted to experiment a different writing style that I haven't done since writing this, heeheehee! Read, review, and as always, enjoy!_

_Credits of Dragon Age go to Bioware; credits of "Familiar Taste of Poison" go to Halestorm. For those that don't know it, look it up! It's well worth it!_

* * *

_Maker have mercy, why do I keep doing this to myself?_

I ask myself that for what seems like the fiftieth time in one day, as if asking it enough will prompt an answer into my head. But, as always, nothing comes. I hang my head, cursing my feet as they carry me over the rain-soaked ground, through the forest, to the familiar clearing that I had visited many times before... a place that I vowed never to return to when last I left it.

It lasted well, until you summoned me to come to you. Again. It's a vicious circle that never seems to stop.

The hut comes to view, and I stop just at the edge of the clearing, thinking of my beautiful wife. She's become the only reason why I always want to leave, the only thing that hasn't been tainted with _her_... We have a passionate past, a strong and bright future together, and Maker, but I love her so much... I love her more than I can say, more than I should sometimes, and so much more than I deserve to.

The traitorous legs that I want to swear aren't mine carry me closer to your door, closer to you, and I suddenly find the courage to say what I've wanted to say for so long. To say that I won't do this anymore makes me ache with the weight of it, and of what it represents. If only I can say it this time...

You open the door once I draw close enough, since you have expected my arrival; instead of abruptly turning heel and running in the opposite direction, I draw closer and step inside. You don't look at me as you shut the door behind us and step further inside, which makes me grateful as I stand stock still, suddenly unsure of what to do next.

I want to leave, be somewhere else, _with_ someone else, and you know this as well as I do. So why am I here, with your compelling mouth and bewitching eyes?

Those same eyes turn and pin me with a look that seems to go right through me, and my courage rushes back. "I'm finished."

A pause, then a delicate, "Oh?"

"I can't do this. I'm finished with all of this, I'm through with you. I can't do this to myself, or to her... not anymore." Those eyes study me carefully, as if searching for a real answer, and it makes me want to hit you. "I'm serious," I glower, my eyes narrowing. "Take these games you play with me and play them with someone else..." _Anyone else,_ I almost beg. "I'm through."

"Then walk away. 'Tis as simple as that," you challenge me.

Silence falls over the two of us. I'm shocked by your challenge, as if it could be done that easily, and I turn to face the door. I'm going to stride out of this Maker-forsaken hovel, find the first able horse I can, and _fly_ back to my wife, where I'll make love to her until I've gone blind from it! As positive as I am that making love to her until I forget what my skin feels against your touch wouldn't take too long, I step to the door, set my hand against it... and pause.

_... What are you waiting for? Do it,_ I coach myself. _Open the door, step through it, and slam it shut behind you!_

_..._

_... after..._

Maker curse it all, the one chance I have to take you up on your challenge and leave for good, and there a part of me that doesn't want to leave? My forehead thumps against the door as my hands clench into fists, wanting to curse my weakness, wanting furthermore to remove it at the earliest opportunity.

Your form whispers up behind me, and your hands slide around me, under my cloak, stroking my back through my linen shirt. Your touch warms softly, as if banishing the cold from my bones. I shouldn't want it so much... but I do. Your hands slide around my front, smoothly trace straight lines down my heaving chest, and I curse myself for at least not wearing armor, which may have made this decision easier.

"Why do you fight me so?" you ask, the whisper sliding into my ear and soaking into my senses, and I'm almost sure you must be enchanting your voice as well, given how my desire sharply climbs.

The water covered cloak slides from me, lands somewhere off to the side, and as you press up against my back to touch my front with greater ease, _I can feel your body_. One hand stays at my chest, becomes intimately familiar with my pounding heart and shuddering lungs, while one traces lower, under my shirt... It only rests lightly on my stomach, just the fingertips touching my skin, but what your magic does to that, to me...

I can't take it, I'm sure of it now. I shiver because I'm freezing, I'm sweating as my blood boils, my exhausted nerves are warring with anger and desire, which makes me shake more (Maker help me), and I. Can't. Take. It.

_**I don't wanna be saved, I don't wanna be sober  
**__**I want you on my mind, in my dreams behind these eyes  
**__**And I won't wake up, no not this time**_

My training takes over, abruptly turning and snatching you from where you stand, before slamming your back up against that same door. Our hips meet, my body pins yours to the unforgiving surface, and I pour _everything_ I hate about you into that first kiss. To push my mouth down as hard as I can onto yours is to smother the life from you, and to stab my tongue into your mouth, forcing you to accept its slide against yours, is to make up for my blade not stabbing into your cruel heart. Nothing exists outside of us in that moment, until I'm forcibly pulled back into reality and away from this assault by a tight grip on my hair.

Your face is flushed, mouth red and starting to swell, and your scantily clad chest rises and falls as hard as mine does. My hands have found a purchase under your thighs, holding them far enough apart with a bruising grip, making way for my hips and achingly stiff cock to press roughly onto you, hard enough to make your body jump with each slam. Your legs have twined behind my back, pulling me closer and prompting me onward with tight squeezes. I realize all of this, but don't stop, nor do I slow to add any sort of sweet hearted gesture like I normally would with my love. There is nothing romantic about this, and there never was.

The skirt is already pushed up around your waist, my harsh exertions more than taking care of that, and you release your free hand's balancing hold on my shoulders to unstrap my sword belt and loosen the laces on my trews, pushing both down past my hips. The second you move out of the way, my hands shift for leverage, and I punish you for making me return to you like I have by shoving myself into your wet heat as hard as possible, your sharp gasp at the sudden intrusion filling my head. It's at this point where I tightly shut my eyes, not wanting to see how much pleasure you're getting from the act. The rest of my senses are thrown into hyperdrive, especially the sense of touch, and I can feel your inner walls milking me for everything they're worth with every move I make.

I can't be bothered to be sure you're getting any sort of pleasure from what we're doing; quite honestly, I'm so disgusted with myself that I could care less.

I drive you back repeatedly into the door, grunts from the effort growing louder until they're tearing from us unwillingly. Your nails are scratching up and down my back as you struggle to keep up with the harsh rhythm I've set, and I know once you get close (dear Maker, forgive me this). My forehead's somehow buried into the crook of your neck, one less thing to worry about as all the sensations rush to my head, making me dizzy from the force.

A whimper is torn from you, and it almost sounds like her. In that instant, I imagine myself in bed with her, doing what I want to be doing to her. I lick my love's neck, tasting salt and softness, and allow my hips to drive me that much faster into paradise. Oh, how I need this woman all over me, imbedded under my skin, her scent of warms spices and amber leaves filling my head, and her soft warmth pulling me in, harder than I can stand-

My hands grab at the fabric at your shoulder and pull, the easy give of it not enough to keep me grounded and sure that I won't simply die. I instead wrap the arm that has shielded so many innocent lives around your perspiring back, pressing the other into the door hard enough to make my palm throb, and let go. My harsh pants escalate into a sharp cry, head thrown back and body going absolutely stiff as my release mixes with yours. For but a brief moment, I can believe that I've been truly pulled from my body and taken somewhere- anywhere- far enough away from all of this. And just as swift, the sensation drops me back down..

The aftershocks of my climax only just faded, when I opened my eyes once more, back in reality. Back with you, instead of her...

I curse, memories of a sweeter romance coming to the forefront to mock me as I pull myself out and straighten my clothes back into place. You don't seem offended by the fact I've ripped your purple shirt-thingy, draping it back over your body and tying it behind your neck as your skirt falls back into place. If only I could go back to how things were as easily as that, though I feel as if I've waded through a lake of darkspawn blood.

The hut is quiet, save for the sound of rearranging clothes. My sword is returned to its rightful place before I reach for my cloak, tossed onto a nearby bed. "I'm never coming back," I tell you, finally convinced of this.

"Ah... yes," you nonchalantly reply, most likely not believing this. "And next time, do try not to rip my clothing. I only have so much left from your displays of 'not coming back'."

Cloak remaining in hand, I storm out the door. "No need to worry about that; there won't _be_ a next time."

Your lilting reply slides out to me before the door closes: "Of course there won't."

I stop in the rain, wondering what you meant. Is that really how you see me now? Am I really that easy to sway? ... Or do you simply have that much power over me?

_Let it go,_ I tell myself. _Don't give her that much satisfaction... it'll just drive you back that much quicker._ I finally pull the cloak overhead, blocking out the rain. As it's fastened around my collar bone, the scents of rain, wildflowers, and a musk I shouldn't know cling to the fabric. Gritting my teeth, I quickly reverse the fabric before continuing on my way. It would be just like her to line the edges of my escape with just a small amount of poison, enough to make coming back not hurt as much as it did the previous time.

_"So, you're not just a bastard, but a royal bastard?"_

_"Why do you fight me so?"_

I could fight this wanting you until the end of time, but maybe- just maybe- I don't want to win anymore...


End file.
